Chuck tried to change the subject, asking Dave about an upcoming meeting at church. Dave wasn’t fooled but obliged, until Chuck bid them goodnight and walked the three steps from their door to his. He let himself in and tossed the keys on the coffee table before slumping down into his couch, feet propped up. Chuck ran a hand down his face, weary to the bone.
It had been a long day, with Lillian’s freezer being the easiest job in a long list of leaky faucets, clogged pipes, faulty wires, and a busted garbage disposal.
Chuck, again, rubbed his face with both hands and sat up abruptly, searching the room for where he’d placed his Bible. He spotted it on the side table where he’d left it next to an empty coffee mug that morning. He sat for just a moment longer, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped together.
I’m lonely.
The realization struck him square in the gut. For the last few years, he’d been content to work hard, take care of his mom, and serve in the church youth group. But the evening with the Murpheys and Lillian, the laughter and fun of watching Lillian relax, her simple beauty, the teasing from his friends—all of it—mixed together and created a recipe for longing that he had no business feeling for someone he knew so little about.
It was nights like this that he could use a T.V., just to zone out in front of an action movie or gameshow. He gave his head a slight shake, rising to retrieve his Bible. No, this was what he needed. To fill his mind with the words of God, with Biblical wisdom and truth. He was certain the emptiness would recede.
A text came through just then, and he reached into his pocket with mixed feelings. It was most likely Felix. Or Dave with another teasing jab. He swiped a thumb across the surface and frowned when he saw the message. Not from Felix or Dave, but rather his mother.
Praying for you, Son. Love, Mom.
Usually Chuck found it adorable that his mom felt the need to sign texts like a letter, as if he wouldn’t know who the message was from. But her words sucked the air out of his lungs, and he found no amusement in them. How did she always know? And why did such an innocent, kind text set his teeth on edge? Like she knew the storm in his heart. Knew how he itched to look up the address of Tanner Simmons and drive by. Make sure he was there and not out—
Tanner Simmons. Chuck almost hadn’t realized how easily he had gone from thinking about lovely Lillian to brooding over Tanner. The name evoked a storm of emotions, none of them godly or of good repute.
Chuck wasn’t ready to think about him. Needed to stop thinking about Lillian. He turned off his phone, tossed it to the couch and strode into his room. Thoughts of Lillian and loneliness were replaced by a black void that threatened to engulf him. He knew he should pray, but suddenly could handle nothing more than changing into sweatpants and collapsing into bed. He slept fitfully the rest of the night.
Chuck rose before dawn, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, and tying the frayed laces on his hiking boots. He drove to the top of Table Rock, a plateau above town that overlooked the valley. Usually, he hiked from the Old State Penitentiary up to the top, but it was too dark, and he was too weary. He parked and walked past the giant white cross that was anchored behind a row of stone benches. The ground lights that were pointed at the cross, lighting it so that it became a beacon of hope over the Valley, were still on, and Chuck avoided looking directly at them as he walked by.
“Lord, you promise that your mercies are new every morning. I believe you. I need to watch that mercy rise today, need to remember how much You’ve forgiven me so that I, too, can forgive…” Chuck whispered, sitting on a stone bench facing the city. It was something he’d prayed again and again for six years. More so in the last two months.
He leaned forward, hands clasped together and watched the earth roll toward the sun. As far as he could see, light spread like fire, reflecting off of windows, overcoming the dark night, warming all that it touched. Ten minutes before, the city had twinkled—but only with artificial light. Chuck’s soul had been downcast, tired, and weary.
While he still felt ragged with raw emotion and exhaustion, the arrival of dawn lifted his spirit. The brilliance of the sun cast aside the false charm of city lights. Chuck pulled his phone from his pocket and opened a Bible app, recognizing his need for guidance. His anger, while understandable to the world, was misplaced in God’s kingdom. He needed to press into the light of Christ. How could he accomplish anything, be influential, or overcome his loneliness while holding onto old grudges?
What would you have me do, Lord?
Forgive. The word was as clear as the dawn. As clear as it had always been.
It was not, however, as bright. Chuck worked hard to throw off the shadow that the word cast on his character, knowing the root of bitterness would do more damage if he allowed it to grow. Knowing, too, that he was helpless to overcome it.
Oh, Father. Help.
Chuck read through Psalms for the next hour, thinking he would skip church that morning. He toyed with the idea of going camping for the night. If he stayed close, he could easily make it back before work the next morning.
A phone call from Viv altered his plans, and Chuck had to check himself as he drove down the hill for disregarding them so easily. Perhaps Dave and Viv were right; he just might have it bad for Lillian after all.
Chapter Eight
Lillian tried not to think about her destination. Instead, she soaked in the crisp March morning. The weekend had been unseasonably warm, set to reach a record high later in the day. A lazy bee kept pace with her for a few steps—either drunk from nectar or just waking up, uncertain if it was truly warm enough to be active—before he dipped low to rest on a closed tulip.
“I hear ya, pal,” Lillian raised her travel mug in salute before touching it to her lips. She drank in the robust coffee, at peace with her surroundings, even if her nerves said otherwise.
The quiet neighborhood was just that—quiet. Tranquil. A mower buzzed in the distance, and the air tingled with the sweet aroma of fresh cut grass. Lillian couldn’t fully appreciate one spring sighting without finding another. Tree limbs, dead and bare just a few weeks ago, were now clothed in fuzzy buds. Soon they would be in full bloom, releasing their petals in a flurry of pink and white, carpeting the buckled sidewalk. The green ropes of a wild rosebush, still void of its flowers, poked through the picket fence she passed, beckoning for her to stop and enjoy a day in the garden.
But not all was quaint on this street. She came upon a row of rentals crammed with tenants, most of them just broke college kids. These were the party houses with lawns covered in empty beer cans and cigarette butts. Lillian crinkled her nose at a porch adorned with a banner made of a dozen or so bras strung across the railing. I don’t want to know…
In all, the streets of Downtown Boise were varied—eclectic—charming to some, an eyesore to others. Lillian loved the ambience, the history of the older homes, the community of corner grocery stores and restaurants, music and bike shops. The day before she’d been sure she would have to leave it all to rent a boring, basic apartment in the suburbs on the outskirts of town. Who was she kidding? Before yesterday she was on a fast track to moving home with her mom and step-dad.
She pulled air in through her nose, filling her lungs with hopeful anticipation. The sidewalk curved, and Lillian’s destination loomed before her.
The red brick building rose at the top of a steep set of wide, concrete steps. A small crowd of older men and women gathered near the open doors at the top of the stairs, chatting and laughing together, lingering just a moment longer in the sunshiny morning.
Lillian stood at the bottom, clutching her Bible to her chest. She had been frantic the night before when she couldn’t find the leather-bound book. How long had it been since she’d packed it away? At last she looked in the box that Drew had brought, and she’d found the Bible near the bottom, memories of when she’d placed it there crashing down around her.
Admit it Lillian, you’re here for a trade. “I’ll come to church, O
God, if you make my dreams come true and let me have this job.” Shame on you, she scolded herself. You haven’t changed one bit. She tried to convince herself that she was merely seeking to make Viv happy, but somehow that notion didn’t paint her in a good light, either.
Shaking, dejected, Lillian turned from the stairs, ready to flee, in disbelief that she’d even thought she could set foot in church again. Had she really believed that she could so easily bargain with the Lord? She ducked her head, walked quickly away—and smacked into a hard chest adorned with a black, yellow, and gray gingham shirt.
“Whoa.” Two strong hands rested on her upper arms, an anchor. The shirt sleeves had been rolled up to the man’s elbows, revealing toned arms covered with dark hair.
Lillian glanced up into Chuck’s smiling face. Of course.
“Lilly, I thought that might be you.”
Chuck let go of her left arm but grasped her right elbow as he gently turned her back toward the front door. She fleetingly noticed that his eyes looked more tired than the day before, and wondered at the weariness she read in his expression. But she was too stunned by his use of a nickname to resist or question him as he led her up the steps. She allowed herself to be tugged along, struck dumb by the warmth of his hand seeping through her shirt. He offered a polite nod to the group at the top and led Lillian into the empty foyer. Chuck hustled to the double wooden doors in front of them.
“We’re late,” he winked at her as he reached for the braided iron handle. “Viv told me you might be here this morning. She was having some Braxton Hicks pain…whatever that means. I blocked it out when I realized she was talking pregnant stuff. Anyway, I was given strict instructions to be sure you didn’t walk in alone. I tried to walk with you, but you were gone when I knocked on your door.”
A burst of piano music and a touch of off-key singing blasted them both. The back bench was blissfully empty, and Lillian shot over to it before Chuck could lead her to the front. Chuck stepped in beside her just as another man came close to speak to him. Lillian gripped the back of the pew, her hands clammy. She jumped when Chuck leaned in close to speak in her ear.
“They need help with the sound booth. Will you be okay here?”
She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, and nodded, resisting the urge to rub the earlobe where his warm breath had tickled just seconds before. Her mouth went dry when he lingered just a second, and then he was gone. She was officially alone.
Lillian glanced behind her to the sound booth as Chuck shook hands with two older gentlemen seated at the controls. Chuck noticed her watching and winked at her, reassuring. She whipped back toward the front, embarrassed to be caught. The song ended and everyone sat. Lillian’s shaky knees barely made the transition.
The sanctuary was comfortingly cliché. High stained-glass windows and gleaming wooden pews lined both sides, facing a stage below an ornately carved choir loft high in the rafters. A woman in her mid-thirties gave announcements before a handful of teenagers walked onto the stage. Two young girls and a boy picked up mics from the small music stand while another boy sat behind the drums, and a girl strapped on a guitar. Lillian didn’t remember seeing a group of high-school kids lead worship before and braced herself for some loud rock. The young man with the mic stepped forward and closed his eyes.
“Lord God, thank You. Thank You for the privilege and honor to worship You. May we do so humbly and with our whole hearts, as You deserve. Please soften our hearts to hear You speak today. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Familiar chords rang out from the guitar, and her throat closed up. I know this song. My soul knows this song. Oh, Lord, it’s been so long… A torrent of memories rushed through her. Youth group, campfires, new faith, new friends, college…old pain, old insecurities, old weaknesses. No matter how familiar the song was, she didn’t fit in with the people standing around her raising their hands in humble worship. Did she?
As the teens rolled from one song to the next, Lillian longed to release her anxiety to the music. The glaring accusation of her conscience chanted over and over, “you don’t belong,” and she stood quiet, eyes closed, arms crossed over her middle, believing every word.
She thought of the conversation with the Murpheys and Chuck the night before. Viv had said that Lillian’s inability to find a job, coupled with their difficulty finding a replacement, had been a “God-thing.” And maybe it was—for Viv. Certainly not for her.
Lillian thought again of the job she’d applied for. How amazing would it be to live—rent free—in that amazing apartment? Her mind wandered for a minute to the kitchen, the double oven, the gleaming countertops. Surely God wouldn’t bless her so much after what she’d done, would He? Of course, she understood that those things were purely material, not something that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But the thought of moving on and putting her life back together in such a bright, welcoming space was inspiring.
The words from Lillian’s favorite song from college chapel flashed on the screen, and she was overcome. In the sound booth behind her, a deep baritone rose above the rest and sang out strong. She pictured the balding gentleman seated there next to Chuck, but didn’t want to turn to look and embarrass him. Or make Chuck think she was ogling him again. She continued to enjoy his voice a moment more before she hesitantly, quietly, lifted her own alto to match his bass.
For a fleeting moment, she imagined that this was what Heaven would be like—voices joined in harmony before the King of kings. The thought crushed in on her with terrible longing. The worship hour became wonderful agony with every beautiful note. No matter how He must feel about her, Lillian still found herself in awe of the wonderful God she used to serve.
Long before she was ready, the teens descended the stairs as the pastor took his place in front of the congregation. Lillian guessed that he was in his early forties, regardless of his white hair. His face had an open, kind quality; his smile stretched, warm and inviting.
“Let’s open our Bibles to Romans, chapter eight,” he said after a short prayer.
Lillian immediately appreciated his smooth, rich voice, the casual way he stood with hands in his front pockets. She opened the Bible in her lap and took in the long room. The stained-glass windows depicted images of Jesus throughout His ministry on earth—His miraculous birth, speaking to the scholars in the temple as a young boy, resisting the temptation in the desert, teaching the disciples, feeding the five thousand, praying in the garden, His crucifixion, His triumphant resurrection, and the Great Commission.
The words of Paul swept over her as the pastor read from Romans, and something inside Lillian’s spirit swelled with a strange, sad sense of homesickness.
***
After the sermon, Lillian timidly accepted the handshakes and kind greetings that came her way, all the while wondering if they could see right through her. If they knew the choices she’d made, the sins she’d committed, would they still shake her hand so heartily? Would they smile kindly and invite her back?
Eventually the well-meaning folks cleared out and Lillian made her way to the front doors and down the stone steps into the sunshine. Chuck had disappeared after the service, and Lillian was grateful. She had much to think about.
At home in her small apartment, she made a turkey, tomato, and avocado sandwich for lunch, and sat on her window sill, the panes lifted high to let the warm day in. It looked as if many of her neighbors had the same idea.
Lillian’s side of the building faced the back, with both wings coming off the main building to make a U-shape around the courtyard six stories below. Most of the windows of her neighbors were open, and their collective activities—the steady rhythm of conversations, a yapping puppy, the low rumble of a T.V, the gentle strums of a guitar—all converged in the courtyard and echoed back to her.
She looked at her Bible where she’d set it on the side table within reach of the makeshift window seat. Tucked in the cover was a thin, brown journal. Lillian set her empty plate on the table an
d tugged the journal free.
She used to write in her prayer journal nearly every day, but the last entry was dated over three years earlier. A rambling confession and shame-filled torrent of nonsense words. Her time as a devoted Christian had been so minimal compared to the years she’d spent living her life very differently. The same doubt that leaked onto that journal entry crept into her heart again, threatening to take her under.
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”
A verse from Romans, memorized years ago, repeated by the pastor that morning, wafted through her mind. And what about those that continue to sin when they know better? She knew there were verses in First John that condemned her where she sat. “If we say we are in fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice truth…”
Lillian stayed perched in the sunshine on the window ledge for the next hour, the light and sounds from the courtyard washing over her once again. She flipped her journal to earlier entries; ones filled with the same hope and joy she’d seen on the faces of the church people that morning. The confident statements of faith slowly faded, replaced with doubt, pain, and finally, guilt before she stopped writing anything at all.
She picked up a pen, her hand shaking slightly, and penned a short, hesitant prayer, hoping she wasn’t overstepping or entering territory that no longer belonged to her.
When she was finished, she tucked the journal back into her Bible cover and left both on the side table. Dejected, Lillian picked up her phone and stared at it. She’d erased Drew from her contacts, but she knew his number by heart. Over the year they’d dated, they’d broken up twice—both times because of her suspicions that he was unfaithful.
Both times she’d caved to her loneliness and called him, “just to talk,” and before she knew it, they were back together.
She remembered Nan’s declaration that baking was good for the soul. Her spirit was certainly in an upheaval that day, and so she chose to take Nan’s admonition to heart. Lillian cranked her phone to a country station on Pandora instead of calling Drew, and spent the rest of the afternoon baking.
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